


Sernando - Summertime

by prompt_fills



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Friendship, Humor, M/M, Summer Vacation, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/pseuds/prompt_fills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fernando and Sergio go on holiday together.<br/>Written for <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/"><b>footballkink2</b></a>, PP5, <a href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/10208.html?thread=5746400#t5746400"> for a prompt asking for something that has summer written all over it.</a><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sernando - Summertime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lumaste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumaste/gifts).



  
Sergio sniffles and leans into Fernando’s comforting touch. That’s nice. Like, very, very nice. Fernando would be enjoying it even more if it weren’t for the constant whining. “She told me it wasn’t working and that we were over,” Sergio repeats for what feels like a hundredth time that evening. Fernando hums and keeps patting Sergio’s shoulder because he is an awesome friend – and because he gets to touch Sergio without having to worry about Sergio reading too much into it. “How could she? _It’s better for both of us!_ ,” Sergio pitches his voice higher, a parody of _her_ voice.  
  
“She wasn’t worth it. Seriously.” Fernando hopes his words sound genuine because he suspects he said them at least twenty times in the past twenty minutes. This thing with Sergio is getting old. Sergio always finds a girl he insists is the right one and falls head over heels for her. Then the girl inevitably breaks up with him and Sergio breaks down. Sometimes, Fernando is just fucking tired of picking up the pieces and gluing them back together. It’s not like he could ever stop trying, though.  
  
“I thought we were perfect! Everything was all right! People don’t just wake up one day and go _hey, we should break up_.”  
  
“Summer is best for breakups,” Fernando gives his miserable friend a nudge.  
  
“You think we can get back together in the fall?”  
  
Sergio’s voice is both hopeful and distraught and Fernando stares at the empty beer cans on the table, wishing he picked vodka instead. “If she doesn’t find anyone better, you mean? Man, you don’t want her back, trust me.” Sergio lets out a pitiful whimper and turns his head to the TV. Some crap show is on that neither of them is watching.  
  
Sergio is quiet for a while and when he speaks again, the heat is gone from his voice. He sounds tired and sad, like fucking drowning kittens. “We were supposed to go on holiday together in a few days,” Sergio rubs his hand against his face. “She should have at least waited for that, no? The flight, the room, the food, all paid for.”  
  
“Too late for a cancellation?” Fernando guesses.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“That sucks, man.” Fernando lets Sergio steal the TV remote so Sergio can twiddle with it and switch the channels as much as he pleases.  
  
Sergio stays silent for so long Fernando honestly thinks the drama is over for the day but Sergio sighs and then he sighs again: “Maybe I should go anyway.”  
  
“You totally should. You could use a break. It’ll be a great rebound, tons of practically naked chicks, great weather, lots on fun. Nothing to remind you of that– of her.”  
  
Slowly, Sergio turns his head back to Fernando and his eyes don’t seem so dead anymore. “Maybe I should ask someone to go with me.”  
  
“Oh hell no,” Fernando protests, not bothering to play dumb. His brain immediately spits a mental image of Sergio emerging from the sea, hair clinging to his face as water drips down his skin in small droplets that glisten in the sun – and this is going to be such a fucking disaster if he doesn’t come up with a damn good reason why he really really really should not go. “I’m not going,” is all he says.  
  
“It’s already paid for. Who else should I take? C’mon, you said it would be fun.” Sergio is looking at him with that fucking intense gaze, eyes big and round and _shit_.  
  
So, that’s how Fernando ends up taking vacation with Sergio.  


 

  
**…**

  
  
  
Sergio is running late and they miss their bus but it’s not like it matters because guess what, their flight is delayed. Except for how it does matter since the lady behind the check-in desk keeps glaring at them until Sergio sweet talks her into letting them pass. Their plane has not even taken off from the previous destination so what.  
  
Fernando keeps his mouth shut about how the whole thing would have been faster by train and it would take less hassle. It’s not his place to criticise the holiday Sergio picked for his girl since he is not the said girl. Fernando is determined to survive this thing with his dignity intact so he bites his tongue and doesn’t mention how the security guy patting Sergio down definitely slipped his hand inside Sergio’s boxers. Fernando is even nice enough not to bitch about not having the seat by the window.  
  
When they finally land, their taxi is nowhere in sight but hey, there’s a bus coming right their way so they decide to jump in, pulling their hoods to their faces, slumping to the backseat. There’s just a bunch of old ladies that pay them no mind, too focused on a guy who is probably their fitness trainer. Sergio nicknames him Mr. Fit Ass.  
Said Mr. Fit Ass is standing in the aisle and keeps shouting shitty motivational phrases that _rhyme_ and Fernando nearly pisses himself laughing. _Stretch your arms a little higher, get yourself a new admirer!_ Seriously, who travels god knows how many miles to succumb to this seaside torture?!  
  
Fernando is still giggling when they arrive to their hotel and find the lifts out of order, _we are very sorry sirs, we’re working on it_ , and Sergio fumes as he carries all his hundred and one bags to the fifth floor. The staircase is awkwardly narrow and only dimly lit by the emergency lighting because the sun has started to go down.  
  
Fernando hops up the last few steps and glides across the hallway with a spring to his step, just to annoy Sergio some more. Why would Sergio need so many bags is beyond him. Fernando packed like, what, his swimsuit and a few tees and that’s it, more or less.  
  
Fernando slides their key card into the slot and the door beeps, the little green light flashing briefly. Fernando pushes the door open and his smile is wiped off his face the moment he steps in and the lights flicker on. Hell, why didn’t he think of this? He’s standing frozen to the spot, so Sergio pushes past him, oblivious, to drop his bags at the foot of the bed. “I’m taking this side,” he says, collapsing onto the mattress and kicking off his shoes. Sergio is dead to the world when Fernando finally manages to get his muscles working.  
  
He unpacks, showers and mechanically brushes his teeth. He spends quite some time on the balcony, breathing the salty air and freaking out, staring into the distance at what he thinks has to be the sea. He puts on a t-shirt for the night and takes out an extra pillow from the wardrobe so he can place it in the middle of the bed before crawling in. He is carefully keeping to his side and looking at the ceiling for hours.  


 

  
**…**

  
  
  
Sergio wakes up bright and refreshed, and it’s barely past noon, so Fernando is still stuck in the zombie mode when Sergio drags him down six floors for lunch. (Turns out the meals are served in the basement and Fernando keeps complying all additional twenty three steps down. He keeps count.)  
  
Fernando’s lunch is... well, it’s warm. And digestible. Probably. God, is everything supposed to be so chewy? The octopus maybe – but the rest of it? Blah. Fernando makes faces and Sergio quietly laughs into his napkin. Fernando wants to crumple his own napkin and toss it as Sergio’s face but the napkins are actual linen napkin so Fernando restrains himself.

  
“C’mon,” Sergio urges the moment Fernando is done nibbling on his food. It’s not common for Sergio to be in a hurry, so Fernando immediately grows wary.  
  
His instincts are right once again. “Are you crazy?” he gasps, when Sergio waves his hand and turns to look at him expectantly. “Kitesurfing?!”  
  
“Yep,” Sergio agrees, popping the final sound.  
  
“You’re nuts,” Fernando says, eyeing the jumping figures in the open sea.  
  
“Welcome to our first lesson,” Sergio says cheerily. “Booked us a three day crash-course. We’re not touching the water today.”  
  
“Nuts,” Fernando concludes in a hushed tone.  
  
Turns out Sergio was wrong and they _do_ get dragged into the water. Their instructor is an evil, evil harpy, who also happens to be quite young and quite hot and quite insufferably flirting with Sergio. Once they learn to fly the kite, she declares them ready for another step. Fernando looks around for the surf but the harpy just grins, her eyes sparkling dangerously, and she says: “Body dragging is next.” It’s as much fun as the malicious gaze promises.  
  
Then, finally, they try the surf for the first time – a little taste of the next lesson, the harpy threatens. Fernando can’t stay on for his dear life because this shit is harder than it looks. He’s soaked. The sun is hot but the wind is sharp and icy cold and his goose bumps are becoming permanent. He does nothing but crash land on the water and if tomorrow is going to be anything like this, someone is going to pay. By the end of the session, Fernando is already feeling murderous.  
  
“Aw, baby, don’t be like that,” Sergio wraps his arms around Fernando’s waist from behind, not caring about getting wet in the slightest. “Smile,” he pokes Fernando’s cheek.  
  
“This is so humiliating, I’m the worst,” Fernando says unnecessarily. “You’re going to pay for this.”  
  
“Stop sulking. Ice-cream?” Fernando leans back against Sergio because he can’t help himself. Sergio is warm. And it’s Sergio. Unintentionally offering. “They’ve got that stupid Oreo flavour,” Sergio adds, tightening his grip and swaying them to once to the left and back.  
  
“Tempting. They also have that stupid _piel de sapo_ sorbet, don’t they?” Fernando guesses.  
  
“And they give very generous scoops,” Sergio adds sheepishly.  
  
Fernando struggles free from Sergio’s arms. “Let’s go. My mouth is already watering.”  
  
Sergio makes some stupid comment about Fernando being drenched through and through and Fernando elbows him in the ribs. “Lalala. You’re still paying.”  
  
“So demanding,” Sergio rolls his eyes and Fernando thinks that no, he’s actually pretty easy. Or he would be, given the chance.  


 

  
**…**

  
  
  
Sergio is fine when they get back to their hotel. “Dibs on the first shower,” he calls, shutting himself in the bathroom. He is fine when he emerges, smelling nice and warm. The bathroom mirror is all fogged up when it’s Fernando’s turn.  
Sergio is fucking fine when they head down to the basement to eat. His good mood disappears during the dinner and Fernando can’t pinpoint the exact moment but now Sergio is sitting here with that pained expression on his face, his eyes distant.  
  
“Sergio?” Fernando says quietly, trying to draw his friend back to here and now.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Sergio smiles and yeah, that’s one forced smile.  
  
“Get up,” Fernando says, pushing aside his half-eaten plate. “We need more booze. And music.”  
  
The party does nothing for Sergio. A few drinks in, his ex is all he can talk about and Fernando wants to scream. He tries, he really tries but this is just one of the days when he’s had it up to here with hearing about Sergio’s past relationships. He steadily supplies the alcohol until Sergio switches from nostalgic and self-pitying stories to the funny ones. It’s still quite early when Fernando calls it a night for them both.  
  
Sergio is past tipsy, louder than usual, quick to laugh at the slightest provocation. He is leaning heavily into Fernando as Fernando tries to get the key card into the slot. The door on the opposite end of the hall opens and an elderly woman walks out. She pauses at the sight of them, then frowns and purses her lips. Sergio notices her disapproving look. Giggling, he presses himself flush against Fernando, resting his head on Fernando’s right shoulder and breathing into his ear. By the time Fernando finally manages to get the door open, the woman is already gone. Fernando sighs and gently dislodges Sergio.  
  
They run into the woman again the following morning. She keeps giving them stern stares in between the gulps of her coffee. The mischievous twitch of Sergio’s lips is the only warning Fernando gets before Sergio grabs his hand across the table and entwines their fingers together. His thumb strokes softly over Fernando’s knuckles and Fernando nearly chokes on his breakfast, blushing like crazy.  
  
The woman’s face darkens and Fernando can see the mirth in Sergio’s eyes. Then the woman’s husbands shows up, carrying two plates loaded with fruit. He sets one plate in front of his wife, briefly pecking her on the cheek. The woman smiles up at him and battles her lashes or some shit because the next thing Fernando sees is a sickening amount of PDA that would be lethal even if the couple was fifty years younger.  
  
Sergio makes a gagging noise and Fernando quickly lets go of his hand, wrapping his fingers around his mug of coffee instead.  
  
Fernando can see the good mood Sergio wake up in wave him goodbye. This is going to be a goddamn long day. And their lesson with the harpy haven’t even started.  


 

  
**…**

  
  
  
Sergio gives Fernando a long look. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  
  
Fernando glares.  
  
“I mean, you started to get the hang of it by the end.”  
  
Fernando keeps glaring.  
  
“It was better than yesterday,” Sergio tries.  
  
Fernando sighs and looks away. “I was like... lame.”  
  
Sergio says nothing to that. Fernando needs new friends, seriously. “You’ll have to buy me dinner if you want me to go there tomorrow.”  
  
“I was planning on dinner anyway.”  
  
Fernando brightens up a bit. “Nothing chewy,” he warns. He can’t wait to eat something else than what the hotel offers. “Actually, I want steak.”  
  
“Steak it is,” Sergio agrees.  
  
The night is young and neither of them is hungry, so they go dancing first. It’s not long before Fernando loses count of his _tinto de verano_ s and the number of girls Sergio flirts with.  
  
Fuck.  
  
One petite blond is awfully persistent and Sergio has been sticking with her for the past twelve minutes. Fernando tries not to watch them. Much.  
  
Then Sergio invites the girl to have late dinner with them. “I’m not–” Fernando protests, not wanting to be the third wheel.  
  
“Promised you a steak tonight. You’ll have a steak.” Sergio turns to the girl, “Or anything else you want.”  
  
Fernando gags.  
  
“You okay?” Sergio peers at him.  
  
Fernando sets his glass down and manages: “Not feeling well. You two have fun. I’m, um, I’m going back to the hotel.”  
  
“Fer–” Sergio starts, but Fernando is already stumbling to the exit, the girl’s giggling ringing in his ears. She is the type to make Sergio call him in the middle of a night, sounding like a train wreck.  
  
Sergio is sickeningly cheerful the following morning but it doesn’t last. Fernando is not surprised. As the midday approaches, Sergio crawls into the bed, frowning at his phone more and more. He doesn’t want to go for a walk, he doesn’t want to go for a swim, he doesn’t want to do this and he doesn’t want to do that and Fernando’s is just fucking done with Sergio’s moping.  
  
“I’m going out,” he growls at Sergio’s passive blank face and heads out of the room, grabbing the key card and some money as he goes. He buys himself ice cream for lunch because he can, he’s on holiday, damn it. He makes a small talk with the vendor, walks a bit around the town, buys and writes a post card for his mum. Some French tourists ask him to take their picture, so he does. He’s feeling much calmer when he heads to the hotel.  
  
Sergio is still busy throwing himself a pity party when Fernando gets back. “Hi,” Fernando says.  
  
Sergio’s eyes are doing that sad-puppy shit again. “Hi.”  
  
“Um, it sucks,” Fernando offers, careful not to make an eye contact, waving his hand to Sergio’s phone.  
  
“Yeah, man, it does.”  
  
Sergio has always been all or nothing. Fernando sighs. “Kitedrowing in a few, we’d better get going.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sergio says and his lips don’t even twitch at Fernando’s little joke. God.  
  
Fernando’s laughable attempts to conquer the surf don’t coax a smile out of Sergio and the harpy has no luck either, though she’s trying to flirt as if it were a sport. Or like, the fucking Olympics. She probably knows they won’t be ever coming back once the lesson is over.  


 

  
**…**

  
  
  
Sergio looks vaguely human again in the evening and he even tells Fernando to get dressed. “Steak is the occasion,” he says and the smile is not there yet but Fernando beams because he’ll take what he can.  
  
Sergio takes forever in the bathroom and Fernando stands in the narrow hallway, waiting for him. A tall mirror on the wall is mocking him. Fernando frowns; sun always makes the damned freckles pop out.  
  
The bathroom door open too quickly. “Glaring won’t make them go away, trust me,” Sergio says, amused, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Then he takes a better look at Fernando and his lips thin. “ _What_ are you wearing?”  
  
Fernando looks down at his shirt. “Uh. A shirt?”  
  
Sergio groans, tugging at the hem of Fernando’s shirt. “It’s the same one from yesterday.”  
  
“Yeah?” Fernando says slowly, carefully.  
  
“And it’s the same one from _before_ yesterday,” Sergio says, equally slowly but also very darkly.  
  
“Well done, Sherlock.”  
  
“Oh my God, you’re an idiot. That shirt. Off. Now.” Sergio turns on his heels and disappears in the bedroom.  
  
Fernando files that sentence for a later use and follows with a sigh. “I’m not wearing that monstrosity,” he objects when he sees the shirt Sergio is pulling out of the drawer.  
  
Exasperated, Sergio dives in for a different one.  
  
Sergio makes a fuss about the shirt, but Fernando’s too relieved Sergio is up and functioning to tease him about it. He even manages to keeps his mouth shut until they arrive at the restaurant.  
  
“Holy shit,” Fernando breathes out, shocked, when Sergio leads them inside. It’s... romantic. Yeah. Romantic is the word. Like, flickering candles and flowers on the tables level of romantic.  
  
Sergio is looking shifty. “Um. Well, I already had the reservation made. And since we’re here, it seemed like such a waste to cancel. The food will be delicious, I promise. And they have steak.”  
  
The steak is delicious. And so is the starter and the soup and the bloody desert that nearly gives Fernando an aneurysm. He bites into a piece of nutshell and for a second he freaks out because he thinks, rather hysterically, that Sergio had a ring put in the cake to propose to _her_ and forgot to cancel that and... and... and...  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Fernando croaks. “Everything’s perfect.”  
  
“I know. You can reach our hotel if you walk alongside the beach from here, too,” Sergio says, smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes.  
  
“Aw, yes please,” Fernando squeaks, batting his eyelashes. That does startle a laugh from Sergio who then insists on taking the stroll.  
  
They walk side by side in silence, the icy waves of the sea splashing their feet.  
  
Sergio says something that makes Fernando nudge him with his elbow and Sergio retaliates by shoving Fernando playfully deeper into the sea. Fernando grabs Sergio’s arm and pushes Sergio off balance and it’s official, they’re trying to knock each other off into the wet sand of the shore. With a laugh, Fernando breaks away, running along the tide. Sergio gives a great chase, until they are both laughing so hard they’re out of breath. Fernando has to stop, wheezing, slightly bent forward, hand against his leg. Sergio catches up with him and he swoops his arms around Fernando’s waist and they both collapse into the sand.  
  
The sand gets everywhere, sticking like glue, itching. Sergio lets him have the first shower.  


 

  
**…**

  
  
  
Sergio decides he wants to explore the town, too. So Fernando comes along, of course he does, he’d follow Sergio fucking _anywhere_. There isn’t much to see in the town, so they end up by the sea pretty fast. And there, on the beach, they run into Mr. Fit Ass and his psychotic group. It’s hard not to gape openly, because the women are twisting in positions that looks both impressive and a bit too suggestive.  
  
Mr. Fit Ass is shouting over the wind things like: “Do a proper stretch, you’ll be a catch.” And Fernando can’t, he just can’t. Sergio is the one to break first, howling with laughter, pressing against Fernando and hiding his face in the crook of Fernando’s neck. Fernando’s stomach starts doing flips and he should be used to that already, damn it, because Sergio practically inhabits his personal space bubble.  
  
“Body perfection for love and affection!” The wind is sharp and noisy but they hear Mr. Fit Ass as clear as if they stood right next to him.  
  
“Dude’s got a megaphone,” Sergio chortles, incredulous.  
  
Fernando only then notices it. “Oh my God,” he says. Sergio’s still wheezing into his shoulder. It’s distracting.  
  
“I kinda want to write the phrases down so I can use them later,” Sergio huffs, peeling himself off Fernando. He still stays so close to Fernando that their arms brush.  
  
“Yeah, could be useful,” Fernando agrees. He grabs his towel and heads closer to the sea. “I feel so fucking tired, man,” he says, flopping down to the sand. It’s not even a lie, he hasn’t been sleeping well.  
  
Sergio kicks some sand to Fernando’s towel before lying down himself. He manages to stay still maybe fifteen minutes – Mr. Fit Ass’s classes are still not over by then – before he starts fidgeting.  
  
“It’s too hot. And it’s so boring,” Sergio whines.  
  
Fernando opens one eye. “Warm and relaxing, you mean.”  
  
Sergio pulls himself to his feet. “Boring,” he insists, grabbing his towel and throwing it as Fernando. Fernando catches it and shoves it under his head, wiggling a little to find a comfortable position.  
  
Sergio towers over him.  
  
“What? Go snoop around. Go for a swim. Find a treasure, go bother the yoga group. Shoo,” Fernando says dismissively. “You’re blocking the sun,” he adds, though Sergio is not. Sergio sighs and stomps off and Fernando falls asleep.

He wakes up to a stream of curses.  
  
“Godfuckingdammit! Fuck! Fuck!”  
  
Fernando is already moving aside so Sergio can sit down next to him. He opens his mouth to ask, but then he looks down at Sergio’s feet and pales. Three small black spines are peeking through the skin on his heel.  
  
“Fuck,” he says, sympathetic.  
  
“Sea hedgehog,” Sergio explains, lifting his left feet and giving an experimental tug at the longest spine. Fernando’s finger twitch and yikes, he has to look away as Sergio patiently removes the spines, one by one, careful not to shatter them. “Done,” Sergio announces a while later, placing a hand on Fernando’s shoulder. “You can look now.”  
  
“Fucker,” Fernando says, arching his back to get away from the cold. “Your hands are fucking freezing.”  
  
“The water’s cold,” Sergio shrugs. He turns his head to look at Fernando. “By the way, I think you’re sunburnt.”  


 

  
**…**

  
  
  
Sergio gently swipes his palms over the irritated skin on Fernando’s back. Of course Sergio would have a tube with some aloe vera shit in one of his bags. And he also has a _why-didn’t-you-ask-me-for-it_ sunscreen. Fernando is laying flat on his stomach on the bed in their room, wincing with each little movement. His back feels like it’s on fire and he can tell the skin is going to peel, no matter what they do to it now. The gel is too little too late but the cool, soothing effect is immediate. “Oh my god, I love you,” Fernando moans.  
  
“Yeah. I love you too,” Sergio returns cheekily.  
  
“I love you more,” Fernando says because it’s not like Sergio will ever know he is being honest rather than sarcastic. “How’s your leg?”  
  
“It’s fine. Think you’ll be okay here on your own?”  
  
“Go. Have fun without me,” Fernando sighs, pressing his nose into the pillows. “I think I’m going to sleep some more.”  
  
“Come find me if you feel better.”  
  
“Will do,” Fernando agrees.  
  
“’kay.” Sergio opens the door and pauses.  
  
Fernando looks up, curious. “What?”  
  
Sergio licks his lips and says, loudly: “Going to miss you, my love.”  
  
Fernando’s heart stutters before he remembers the elderly woman form their floor. “Miss you already, honey!” He shouts back and gets to see Sergio’s smug smile before the door closes.  
  
He sleeps for a while and then he can’t sleep anymore and there is nothing on the TV, so he gets up and goes after Sergio.  
  
Fernando’s eyes are automatically drawn to Sergio in the crowd. He is bright-eyed, face flushed from laughter and the alcohol, Fernando thinks, and he is talking to a stunning blond girl, standing too close to her, making wide gestures with his hands.

  
Fernando slowly approaches.  
  
Sergio sees him and a huge grin splits his face. “Fer! Finally! What took you so long, princess?” He’s grabbing Fernando by his arm and tugging him towards the people. “This is Fernando!” He announces to the group. Some people look their way, most don’t, but Fernando is sure his face is flushed scarlet regardless. The blond girl is giving him a stink eye.  
  
“Uh, I’m–” he starts to pull away but Sergio wraps his arms around Fernando’s waist.  
  
“No, no, no. You just got here. And you’re not drunk enough.”  
  
The blond girl’s eyes flicker between Fernando and Sergio. “He’s _with_ you?” she asks, something ugly in her tone.  
  
Sergio’s rumbling laughter, low and rich, sends shivers down Fernando’s spine. “With me,” Sergio agrees. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted. They are standing too close again.  
  
It would be so easy to snatch a kiss, Fernando thinks. _Maybe he won’t even remember. It could be just another joke._  
  
Fernando staggers away from Sergio. Because Sergio would sober up, remember everything, and they would have to talk about it and Fernando won’t be ready – he will _never_ be ready – to give up on Sergio’s friendship. He’d never forgive himself.  
  
 _Breathe,_ he has to tell himself. _Breathe._  
  
“Going to get myself a drink,” he says, desperate to put distance between him and Sergio. “You want something?”  
  
The girl shakes her head and Sergio is still holding a half-filled glass in his hand, so Fernando takes off and hides at the bar until Sergio decides he wants to get some sleep and comes find him.  


 

  
**…**

  
  
  
Sergio wakes him up early. “More snoozing means losing!” he booms, jumping on the bed and bouncing a few times.  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
Sergio starts bouncing again.  
  
“Too early,” Fernando tries.  
  
Sergio tugs at the covers.  
  
“Cold,” Fernando protests, turning his face away.  
  
Sergio doesn’t buy that. “It’s summer, it’s never cold,” he says and continues to annoy Fernando awake.  
  
Fernando heads to the bathroom, taking his sweet time, and then he gets dressed, awfully slowly, spending ages on picking his (one clean) t-shirt. He moves as if in slow motion because it’s too much fun to watch Sergio impatiently tap his foot and glare. They’re already at the door when Fernando _remembers_ he has to comb his hair.  
  
After Fernando chews his way through breakfast, they set off to _explore the wilderness_ as Sergio calls it. Fernando laughs at him at the time but then they manage to lose their way.  
  
At first it’s hilarious. The sun is shining, the air is fresh and they are well rested. Fernando even remembered to use Sergio’s sunscreen. They go to the beach and it’s quite early so there are many seashells ashore. The water is even colder than usual but they take off their shoes and walk through the saggy sand. They’re not the first ones there; eager tourists with plastic bags are carefully inspecting the shells, picking up the prettiest ones.  
  
Some people are walking their dogs, some are jogging, but the yoga group is nowhere in sight, much to Fernando’s chagrin.  
  
There is a small church up in the mountains, they can see if from the beach. It doesn’t look far away. Of course it doesn’t, not from down the hill. They ask an old man that sure as hell looks like he’s local for the directions. In retrospect, Fernando should never have trusted an aging grandpa in a suit and with a bowler hat – he did smile a bit _too_ much.  
  
It stops being fun around lunchtime. The trees and the rocks all look the same and the sky starts getting darker and darker all of the sudden. A rainstorm comes, accompanied by a wind so strong it makes them stumble.  
  
“Fucking hate you,” Fernando fumes, soaked to his bones. “First the lessons in the freezing ocean and now this. Are you trying to kill me? Slow and painful?”  
  
Sergio pouts. “Not like I planned _this_.”  
  
Fernando has nothing to say to that because he’d rather bite his tongue off than to encourage Sergio’s _my ex_ mopefest.  
  
It’s three hours before they get back in the town. Sergio’s limping heavily, not cracking jokes anymore, and Fernando is silent, too.  
  
They get lunch at the first restaurant they spot. Fernando suggests calling for a cab but Sergio shoots him a look full of disdain. “We made it this far.”  
  
It’s another thirty minute walk in the downpour and it’s already dark when they finally see the neon sign of that tall hotel across the street from theirs in the distance.  
  
“Fucking finally,” Sergio breaths out. He has his arms crossed, huddling into himself. “I’m freezing.”  
  
“Oh?” Fernando says airily. “I thought it’s never cold in summer, like, by default.”  
  
“Shut up.”  


 

  
**…**

  
  
  
Sergio says that without getting shitfaced, it wouldn’t be a proper farewell to their holiday. “Instead of squats, we do shots,” he declares solemnly.  
  
“Drink to that,” Fernando agrees, waving his glass. Sergio catches his wrist and refills his glass, though Fernando wasn’t done drinking yet, and Fernando is positive that it’s pretty rude to do that but he doesn’t say anything.  
  
Fernando stops counting the shots and Sergio somehow ends up sprawled atop of him. The low buzz of alcohol is kicking in so Fernando shoves Sergio off before he could do something stupid, “You’d better start packing.”  
  
“Tomorrow,” Sergio mumbles. “Too comfy now.”  
  
Fernando gives him a stern look but Sergio has his eyes closed and yeah, he does look quite comfy. Fernando lets himself stare for a long moment before reaching to pour himself another drink.  
  
Sergio ends up putting some of his clothes into Fernando’s bag. “Too many gifts,” Sergio explains and Fernando just laughs. Sergio will never notice if not all of his shirts find their way back to him. And he’s constantly forgetting things at Fernando’s anyway.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Sergio wheezes when he picks up his bags and carries them outside. He is struggling to keep up with Fernando. The bus stop is not far from the hotel, so Fernando just smirks and makes his steps even quicker.  
  
“I bet you didn’t need half of the things you packed,” Fernando admonishes.  
  
“Better safe than sorry.”  
  
“Three umbrellas?”  
  
“Fuck off,” Sergio gasps, adjusting the strip on one of his bags.  
  
The bus station is on top of a hill and Fernando is feeling gleeful. “No pain, no gain. Move it, or we’re going to be late, Fonda.”  
  
“...kill you,” Sergio breathes out.  
  
“Or we’re going to be late, _again_ ,” Fernando laughs, happy and maybe a bit nostalgic because their vacation is practically over.  
  
“The _bus_ will be late,” dismisses Sergio. His bag slips from his shoulder and hits the ground. His phone, a water bottle and a box of fucking toothpicks fall out. “Very late,” Sergio adds darkly, bending over to quickly stuff the items back inside the bag.  
  
Their bus is both incredibly late and incredibly crowded. Sergio squeezes himself and his million one bags behind the back door, dragging Fernando along. They keep bumping against each other as the bus speeds up. Fernando feels trapped – with their bags down between them, with someone else’s arm brushing against his back, with someone’s kid standing on Fernando’s left foot and, mainly, with his gaze captured by Sergio’s warm, smiling eyes. The sun sets without Fernando ever noticing.  
  
The moment their plane takes off, Sergio plasters his face against the window so he can see the orange gleam of the city bellow them. When he turns, his huge goofy smile firmly in place, Fernando’s own lips twitch in response. “What?”  
  
“Look,” Sergio grabs him and pulls him closer, pointing to what must be a harbour; nothing more than a clump of lights, blackness of the land and then the dark, dark sea.  
  
“Amazing,” Fernando whispers, all too aware of Sergio’s warm body pressed against his.  
  
“You were right,” Sergio says, leaning more into his seat so Fernando can watch the scenery as well, “this was a great rebound.” He raises his hand and clasps it around Fernando’s shoulder, giving him a friendly pat. Fernando tries not to react. “I’m glad we went,” Sergio grins.  
  
Fernando meets his eyes in the reflection of the window. “Me to,” he replies, voice only a little strained.


End file.
